Tragically Perfect
by Apollo'sAngel93
Summary: Margot is the epitome of discipline and self-control, drilled into her by years of arduous ballet training, until a certain god falls into her life and exposes her to a whole new world. Potential for romance later on, if my muse so wishes.
1. Discipline Embodied

So, I had so many little snippets of this story just floating around in my mind, and I finally decided I should do something with them! This is my first story in a long while, and it has been even longer since I have done a fanfiction, so I apologize in advance for anything lacking in my writing ability or plot! This is more of an introduction chapter, something to introduce you to my OC and set the tone. If any clarification is needed for the terminology used, I can explain it in the next chapter or fire off a PM. Enjoy!

I do not own anything belonging to the Thor or Marvel universe.

"Préparation! Sept, huit et jeté! Très bien mes filles. Prochaine groupe, s'il vous plait. Attention à votre épaulement, Anna…"

Margot stood at the barre, warming up her feet as she watched her fellow dancers leap and throw themselves across the floor gracefully, arms held delicately aloft. The exercise was so familiar to them all, drilled into their minds by hours of arduous practice, that they could do it in their sleep. But of course, this didn't stop the constant tweaking, the constant adjusting and critiquing and self examination in their endless quest for perfection. A perfection that, though dearly coveted, was impossible to attain. Margot herself had spent inordinate amounts of time repeating the same steps over and over, attempting to perfect everything from the line of her leg to the very position of each finger — anything to perfect the illusion of grace and elegance. She was neurotic about it to a fault, a flawless example of discipline and self-control.

And Margot wouldn't have it any other way, thank you very much.

Margot had been a soloist with a prominent ballet company in New York for a year now. The day she had been promoted from the _corps de ballet_ had been a dream; all the hard work and hell she had put her body and mind through had paid off. She wasn't yet a principal dancer, but it was an honour she hoped to be given someday. In the end, she was simply happy to be dancing. Ballet was her life, an almost dangerous obsession. It had been since she was given her first pair of pointe shoes, and realized she could make a living out of her passion. This mattered little to her parents who, despite her accomplishments in the ballet world, remained disappointed that she hadn't pursued a more academic career. _Something more practical_, they had called it. Margot had scoffed at their words, unable to comprehend their need for the mundane.

She was pulled from her reverie by the brusque clapping of Mme. Dumas, their dance master, calling the company to attention. "Everyone, take five minutes to stretch and rehydrate. My girls in the _corps_, you are to head to the main studio to practice the coda. Little Swans, you are in here with me. Allez-y!"

Margot pulled her cardigan on, settling herself on the floor and stretching out absentmindedly. Ah, _Swan Lake_. The ballet she had been dying to perform since she was a child prancing around in her first tutu. The theme had been her lullaby for many a year, and the tragic story had filled her dreams for just as long. Tragedy. It was a thing Margot often found herself drawn to for reasons she could never explain, like a fly to sickly sweet fruit. She was morbidly fascinated with tragic stories, and even more so with tragically flawed characters. Perhaps it all seemed so much more realistic to her.

Or perhaps, it was simply Fate's way of preparing her for what was to come.


	2. Night of Terror

Glittering snow floated softly past the window, starkly contrasting with the ink black sky. It swirled in delicate patterns, haphazard but beautiful. Margot gazed at it dreamily, admiring nature's effortless grace. The pointe shoe she had been preparing lay forgotten in her hands, dangling limply by its satin ribbons. The snow always made her miss her childhood home, a farm far north in Canada, nestled in the wilderness outside a small town. Wintertime had always been her favourite, when the fields and forests turned into a veritable wonderland. Hoar frost clung to the naked trees, turning their branches into shimmering crystal sculptures, and the lakes became pristine mirrors, reflecting the weak midday sun. Downy drifts of pure white snow graced the fields and icicles hung from the eaves like dazzling jewels. And when it snowed, Margot would rush outside and dance among the flakes, laughing delightedly as they tickled her skin. Winters in the city simply weren't the same, where the snow scarcely stayed pristine and slush clogged up the roads and walkways. _Someday_, Margot swore to herself privately, _someday I'll go back home, and dance in the fields where I grew up. Someday…_The soothing thoughts and mesmerizing snow soon lulled her into a peaceful sleep, filled with nothing but pleasant dreams.

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><p>Margot was jerked violently from her sleep as her apartment shuddered terribly. Sleep still clung greedily to her mind, fogging her thoughts and causing her to feel sluggish. She swiped at her eyes, willing herself to wake up fully. What was going on? Surely this wasn't an earthquake. <em>Of course not, stupid<em>, Margot chided herself, _this is New York_. Panicked shouts echoed through her building, sending a thrill of fear through her. She gazed about blearily, still trying to establish the situation. She was dimly aware of the sound of doors opening and banging shut. Were they being evacuated? In her sleep-induced daze, this seemed a reasonable conclusion, and so she staggered towards the doorway, snatching up her coat and shrugging it on as she fumbled for the door knob. The blinding fluorescent lights stung her eyes as Margot stepped out, fully waking her up. She raced gracelessly down the stairway, nearly tripping down the steps. _Goodness, you'd have no idea I was a dancer_…

She forced the apartment building door open, and stopped dead in her tracks, gasping at the sight before her.

The road — or what _had_ been the road in front of her building — was torn asunder, large chunks of asphalt strewn about. A massive crater now occupied the space, jagged cracks radiating from its centre. Dozens of people milled about like ants, fretting over the damage or, like Margot, simply trying to establish what had happened. She stepped hesitantly towards the pit until she stood at the crumbling lip, and peered down to the bottom. There was no meteor, no fallen satellite or debris. How was that possible? Something had to have created the damage. Perhaps it disintegrated upon impact?

"I swear to you, I saw a _man_ fall from the sky and crash right there! He must've disappeared, but I know what I saw, I do! "

Margot turned to see a poorly dressed man gesticulating wildly to the policeman interrogating him, jabbing a finger at the crater. The officer looked none to impressed, skepticism plainly written across his face.

"I'm sure you did, sir. Thank you for your time and information." He turned away, muttering angrily, "Damn riffraff and their stories, always getting in our way…" He stalked off, making his way to another group of witnesses. Margot glanced at the officer, and then the man he had interrogated, and nervously made her way towards him.

"Excuse me, sir? You said a _man_ fell from the sky?" She felt silly, asking such a ridiculous question; it wasn't even physically possible in her mind.

"That I did, girlie. Saw a huge flash, then he fell straight down then BOOM - smack dab in the middle of the road. Left quite the mess, as you can see. Disappeared in the blink of an eye though, no idea where the bugger went. Barely got a good view of him, what with the dust and what not."

"Would explain the missing object in the crater, I suppose," Margot murmured, more to herself then the stranger at her side. He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his ratty pockets and meandering away, leaving her to her thoughts. How could a man simply disappear into thin air? That too wasn't physically possible; then again, neither was a mysterious crater with no easily discernible source. Curiosity got the best of her, and Margot began wandering about, naively hoping to see the supposed culprit, though her hopes weren't high.

Snow whispered at her feet as she picked her way carefully around the debris, arms crossed tightly at her chest. A stray strand of golden hair snaked across her cheek, enticed by the soft wind, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly, too preoccupied with her own search, though Margot scarcely knew what she was searching for.

And then, it happened.

It was simply a small shifting of the shadows at the corner of her eye, but Margot tensed, and somehow knew what she saw was important. She turned ever so slowly toward the source of the flicker, a dark alleyway that bordered the apartment building. Her breath hitching in the back of her throat, she took a small, hesitant step towards the dark opening. Margot's heart fluttered in her chest, like that of a frightened little bird's, and her palms became slick with sweat despite the freezing cold weather. This wasn't safe, she knew, but something pulled her inexorably towards the alley, a burning curiosity that she couldn't explain.

And then she saw him.

The man who fell from the sky. It had to be him, for he surely was not mortal.

He lay crumpled on the ground, but even this did not hide his figure, long and lean and lithe, like a deadly panther's. He was swathed in a high collared, green jacket that reached down past his knees, and despite her shock Margot couldn't help but notice the intricacies of his garment, the elegant stitching and fine details capturing her attention. But she tore her gaze away, snapping back to reality when she heard his pained gasping and saw the terrible heaving of his chest — he was clearly in great pain. Margot's eyes trailed up to his face, just as he turned to face her, and their gazes met. She gasped, drawing her fingers to her lips. He had the most startling eyes she had ever seen, a striking green akin to the rarest emeralds, yet right now they held deep pain, and Margot couldn't bear to hold his gaze for long, lest her heart break. She trailed her eyes instead to his lips, which dripped with scarlet blood — it contrasted terribly with his alabaster skin. He coughed — choked — more blood sputtering from his thin lips.

"Help me, " he gasped hoarsely, his voiced scarcely above a whisper in the gentle wind, "please, help me…"


	3. A Swan Song

Thank you to all those who have reviewed and favourited so far! It really does mean a lot :)

I was listening to "A Swan Song (For Nina)" from the Black Swan soundtrack while writing this. It really is a gorgeous, sad piece, and I felt it was perfect for this scene. Give it a listen, if you haven't already! As always, I do not own anything created by Marvel.

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><p>Uncertainty and fear flooded through Margot, rooting her to the spot. Here lay this strange man, grievously injured, begging for aid. And yet she hesitated, something she couldn't quite put her finger on holding her back. Perhaps it was his unsettling otherworldliness, or perhaps it was her gut instinct, a little voice screaming inside her head that told her that if he truly wanted to, he could kill her in a heartbeat, and little effort would be spent on his part. But when Margot turned her gaze back to his, she didn't sense a hunter, watching his prey. Instead, his brilliant green eyes held absolute terror. It was the kind of look that told her he knew he was dying, and was entirely unprepared for what lay ahead of him, and she found her heart breaking all over again. She knew she could never take him to a hospital, for the minute he was healed, if he could be, he would be swept away by prying research teams. Margot supposed the least she could do was ease his pain as he passed. Lessen his misery.<p>

She edged towards him, carefully crouching down and placing her hands under his arms, attempting to haul him up. But she was so very little compared to him that her efforts were nearly futile. He struggled to help, and with much effort on both their parts, Margot managed to get him into a shaky standing position, though he leaned heavily into her side for support.

"This way, " she murmured, so as to not draw attention to the pair. " We'll take the back way in, so I can hide you. No one should be in the building right now."

He gave no reply, and she feared that he was growing dangerously weak. They shuffled laboriously towards the end of the alleyway, the stranger's pained breathing coming in sharp gasps. After what seemed an eternity, the pair reached the door, and Margot wrenched it open, carefully helping him over the threshold. Before them stood the stairs, which now seemed so very steep and high to her. He nearly fell upon taking the first step up, but with Margot's help, they managed to reach her floor. She thanked the heavens that she only lived on the second floor, and no higher. Glancing back, she noted that a trail of blood lay behind them, like a ghastly version of Hansel and Gretel's bread-crumb path. She supposed she would have to clean that up, lest someone follow it to her apartment…

Arriving at her door, Margot fumbled clumsily with the keys, panicking when she dropped them multiple times. Finally, she managed to unlock the door, gently easing the man through the entryway. All the lights were still on, as in her haste to leave the apartment she hadn't bothered to turn any of them off. She guided him to her couch, the one comfortable piece of furniture she possessed aside from her own bed. Margot tried to lay him down as gently as possible, pushing his legs up onto to couch when his strength appeared to fail him. When she rolled him onto his back, she gasped, drawing in a shuddering breath. Lodged into his stomach was a shard of the most unusual jagged glass Margot had ever seen. It shimmered brilliantly with all the colours of the rainbow, which seemed to shift and swirl without any discernible outside force. But its beauty was marred by the blood spilling from the wound, blooming across his abdomen like a ghastly flower. The man followed her gaze to his injury.

"You…You must remove it, " he choked. "I cannot…Cannot heal otherwise."

Margot swallowed hard, beginning to feel vaguely faint. "But…if I remove it, you'll only bleed further. And you've already lost so much blood…"

"I might stand a chance…if you can remove it. I…might still have the strength to heal."

She swallowed again, her throat feeling painfully tight and dry. "Let me go get some towels then," she murmured hoarsely. "To staunch the bleeding."

Margot stumbled into the hallway, where the linen closet lay. She shrugged off her coat, casting it to the floor, and began fumbling through the many towels and sheets, pulling out the oldest ones. She numbly returned to the stranger, whose breathing had now become shallow, though no less pained. Margot kneeled down beside him, shakily clutching a towel in her now deathly pale hand.

"This will hurt badly, I suppose," she said softly, trying to soothe him, "Just try to…try to relax, okay? I'll try to make it quick." With a trembling hand and erratic breath, Margot grasped the shard, noting how smooth it felt, though it was also slick with the stranger's blood. Blood, which was freezing cold, like ice water. She nearly jerked her hand away in shock, but managed to maintain her hold. Margot began easing the piece of glass out of the wound, trying not to gag as it made a hideous squelching sound. She felt the stranger tense sharply, his fingers literally digging into the soft cushion of the couch as he groaned in pain. With a final effort, Margot managed to pull the glass free, tossing it carelessly to the floor as she rushed to press the towel to the now gaping hole, more blood pouring from it in earnest. With despair, she noticed that it was soon saturated with the scarlet liquid. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, yet she couldn't understand why. Margot had never witnessed someone dying before her very eyes, and the sudden harsh reality of death suddenly gripped her with terror and rendered her painfully aware of her own mortality. She fumbled for the stranger's ice-cold hand, and in that moment couldn't tell whether it was for her own comfort, or his. Perhaps it was both.

"Please don't die," she whispered, though she doubted he could hear her. "We only just met…"

Margot may have doubted his ability to hear her, but in the painful red haze of death, Loki Odinson heard her voice, clear as a sweet bell, tugging at heart strings he had long believed no longer existed. But his hold on consciousness was slipping, like sand running through his fingers, and he felt his powers, and his life, drift away from him as gently as the clouds on a lazy summer day. Oh, how cruelly death teases...


	4. Fallen Angel

Oh the joys of having a slow job, it gives me time to write! This is a bit of a transition chapter, I suppose, I promise chapters will get longer. Also, a heads up that though my story takes place in the movieverse to a degree, I have altered the reasons for Loki's fall to earth. You'll all soon find out what they are! I was listening to both "The Stairs" by Jan A. P. Kaczmarek from the Finding Neverland soundtrack and "Summer Fields" by Russell Shaw from the Fable soundtrack to help set the mood. (In case it isn't obvious, music is very inspirational for me ;) )

I do not own anything by Marvel, as per usual.

And please review! It very much helps me to know how people are finding it, and I like to know peoples' thoughts :) Thanks to those who have reviewed!

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><p>Margot choked back a sob as the stranger's ice cold hand went limp, slipping from her grip. The pained breathing ceased, and his fluttering eyelids stilled.<p>

"No," she moaned, "No, no, no, don't be dead, please don't be dead…"

Panic began to engulf her again, an angry monster that twisted her insides and burned her throat, robbing her of rational thought. What was she to do? Margot now had a corpse in her apartment. She knew she couldn't drag him out of the building; he was much too heavy, and she would be caught. If she called the police, they would never believe her story, and she would be arrested in a heartbeat. Margot sank to the floor, bloody fingers entwined in her hair, pulling painfully. "This can't be happening," she cried to herself, voice raw, "This isn't real, this isn't real, it can't be, no, no, no, no…". She curled herself into a shivering ball, the panic and trauma proving too much for her already anxiety ridden mind, and she fainted, momentarily dead to the world and her horror.

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><p>Loki blinked open his eyes, momentarily blinded by the warm sunlight shining down upon him, such a sharp contrast from the oppressive darkness just moments earlier. Before him stretched a landscape of gently rolling hills carpeted with soft, green grass. Pastel wildflowers dotted the fields, nodding and swaying gently in the warm breeze. Above him, songbirds trilled and warbled, bright jewels in the clear, blue sky. The comforting scent of sage and wild roses filled the air, carried by the breeze. It was altogether perfectly peaceful and seemed vaguely familiar to the young god. This wasn't Asgard, but this surely wasn't Midgard either. He was sure he had crashed in the middle of one of their filthy, overpopulated cities. Was this death, then? It hardly seemed so bad after all.<p>

"Loki," a soft, musical voice uttered behind him. He twisted around and there, standing beneath a grove of weeping willows, stood Freyja, goddess of love and death. _Ah_, he mused, _this must be Fólkvangr, Freyja's realm of the dead_. She approached him slowly, her simple white gown whispering across the grass. She wore her hair loose, the strands falling in golden waves down her back, and delicate wildflowers were woven through their entire length. Her wide green eyes found his, a deep wisdom shining in them. Loki had always found her very sylph-like — ethereal, painfully beautiful and impossible to have for oneself.

Freyja stopped just before him, reaching up and cupping his pale cheek in her delicate hand. "Oh, child," she sighed, "What tragedies you have already suffered, though you are so young. You seem already so weary of the soul."

"Why am I here? Why am I not in Hel? The other gods always claimed it is where I belonged in death," he spat bitterly. Freyja's gaze softened further, her heart saddened to hear his words.

"Despite your mischievous and deceitful nature, I see no evil in your heart. Hel is not your place, nor do I predict will it ever be. But then, Fólkvangr is not for you yet either."

"Then why am I here?" Loki questioned again, ever curious. He began to wonder if he belonged anywhere.

"I know not. Even the Norns do not yet know your purpose in visiting here. It is a rare thing, to be permitted leave from the afterlife. You will know in due time what the Norns have fated for you."

Silent tears slipped down Loki's face suddenly, his mind fogged by incomprehension and exhaustion. He couldn't keep up the steely resolve anymore. He hated it; Loki was known for his brilliance, his quick and clever mind. It was rare for him to not understand a situation, and he was ever the planner, the strategist, the thinker, the one who never betrayed his emotions. Someday, he imagined, it would drive him mad. But not today.

Freyja brushed the tears away with her fingers, her touch gentle and warm. "You will understand one day, Loki Odinson. You are far too intelligent not to."

"I am not his son," Loki whispered, voice cracking. "I never was. I never will be. That is a title for Thor only"

Freyja frowned, and still, she was unbearably beautiful. "He loves you, just as he would a son of his own flesh and blood. There is much to be explained, much the Allfather wishes to tell you. They mourn your loss."

"They? I cannot imagine my disappearance merits mourning. Celebration, perhaps. Few showed approval of me in life; they surely will not show it in death."

"Oh, Loki," Freyja sighed, soft as the wind, "How clever you are, but how little you understand of love, though you yourself are perhaps the greatest example of it. Your final act was the ultimate sacrifice, selfless in the extreme."

Loki turned away, skeptical of the goddess's words. "I did what was necessary, what a loyal subject would do for his future king. Nothing more."

"Deny what is in your heart, child, but I am the goddess of love, and I see it in all its forms. You are not yet prepared to come to terms with it, but you will when you have had time to heal. Perhaps it is best if I send you back to Midgard; I see a kindred but timid soul willing to offer help, though she may not know it yet. Perhaps there, you will find solace. I know not yet."

And before Loki could speak, Freyja leaned forward, pressing her scarlet lips to his forehead. A pleasant feeling of warmth bloomed in his heart, spreading quickly through his body, and as it did, Fólkvangr began to fade from view, dissipating like mist in the morning light. Only the lingering scent of wild roses and sage assured Loki that none of it had been a dream.

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><p>A dull pounding in the back of her head is what pulled Margot back into reality. With a groan, she pushed herself up, grogginess making her temporarily forget the recent events that had transpired. But when she rose unsteadily to her feet, she caught sight of the stranger out of the corner of her eye, and the reality of the situation came crashing down upon her once again. She wanted to wail with despair, new tears leaking from her eyes, but then a movement caught her eye.<p>

Just a small one, almost imperceptible.

The stranger's chest rose and fell, just slightly. Margot froze, sure she was seeing things in her tired and anxious state. But again, his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The breaths of one who was simply sleeping peacefully, not the laboured breathing of one who was approaching death. She began laughing, nearly hysterically, her laughter choked with tears. This was all just too much. Far, far, too much. She sniffled, swiping the tears from her eyes, shuffling closer to him. How could he be alive? Margot had seen him die right before her very eyes. Felt his grip falter, heard his breath fail. She pulled away the blood soaked towel, expecting to see the gaping wound. It wasn't there. His skin was completely healed, no sign that he'd been grievously injured, though his clothes still bore the rips and tears and blood as a reminder of the night's events.

Margot's gaze trailed up to his face, which she hadn't yet had a chance to properly observe. He was devastatingly handsome, there was no doubt. His skin was pale, but not in a ghastly, sickly way, and smooth, devoid of imperfections. Long, dark lashes rimmed his eyes, and even in sleep, his thin lips were pressed together as if in thought. Her eyes followed the strong line of his jaw and up the sweep of his cheek bones, taking in the perfect lines of his face. His hair was the deepest shade of black and grew to chin length, where it curled ever so slightly at the ends. Margot decided she had never seen a man so attractive. He was angelic, she supposed, in a dark way.

Like a fallen angel.


	5. Charm

Another chapter! Thank you to those who review, and please continue to do so!

As always, I own nothing.

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><p>Dying is a curious thing. It does not hurt — barring any wounds — nor does it leave one struggling for breath, as in death, one does not need air. It is cold, in a bone chilling way, all the warmth of life slipping away like sand grains in an hourglass. And it is slow — not sudden, as one might expect, but languidly drains away one's life force like sweet, slow-acting poison. Aside from the horrid wound, it wasn't an altogether terrible experience, all things considered. Nor was having his soul returned to him, whole and questionably healthy. This is what Loki pondered to himself as he came to, warmth and tingling feeling rushing back into his finger tips and toes. His stomach still ached faintly from the gaping hole — it was healed, as he knew it eventually would be, no doubt aided by Freyja while his soul was in her realm. Such were the perks of being a god; healing, even in death, was possible, as all gods possessed a degree of magic, but almost none more so than Loki. He was just as renowned for his sorcery skills as he was his terrible intelligence. Together, they made a devastatingly lethal combination that Loki was quite proud of, despite the disapproval of the general populace. He preferred the elegance of magic to the brute force of a hammer, the finesse of quick movements and shadowy subterfuge to showy axe brandishing, and much preferred a silver tongue to a strangled battle cry. He was a prince, born and bred to be regal, not some barbarian fool. Then again, the royalty he was truly born to was hardly refined…<p>

Loki paused his thinking before the familiar bitterness threatened to consume him. His eyes were still closed, feigning sleep, though he had become acutely aware that he was alone; not another soul was present in the room. Where was the mortal girl? She had been by his side all throughout his passing, held his hand even. An oddly kind gesture, given they were strangers. The god of mischief didn't concern himself too much; this was clearly her abode, and he imagined she would return soon.

He cracked his eyes open, though there was no startling sunlight to blind him this time. Instead, soft daylight filtered through a window curtained with delicate cream lace. Loki propped himself up on his elbows, glancing around. He was in a small enough room, on a black couch pushed up against one of the dark grey walls. A three-panelled mirror stood across from him, next to a bookshelf crammed with many volumes. Shelves lined the walls, holding small trinkets and crystallin figurines sculpted into strange poses he had never seen, and pictures in dark frames featuring more of these strange figures graced the walls. It was quaint, he supposed, in a dark way.

Loki did a final sweep of the room, ever the nitpick for details, until his eyes fell upon a note which had fallen to the floor by the couch. He strode over to pick it up, already fairly certain it was meant for him. In neat, graceful writing the mortal had written:

_ I'm terribly sorry for leaving you alone like this, but you seemed to be sleeping and I didn't want to disturb you. My name is Margot; I'm a dancer. That's why I'm not home right now, but I'll be home later in the evening. I've left you some water and a bit of food on the kitchen table, if you're well enough for it. A bit of breakfast, I suppose. I'm sorry if it's not what you're used to. _

_Margot_

_Well, sweet girl_, Loki thought, setting the note down. He made his way to the kitchen, finding a pitcher of water, a glass and a large, strange fruit cut in half. It looked like an oversized, pink orange, and Loki was certain he'd had nothing like it in Asgard. He picked up one of the halves, sniffing at it experimentally. It had a tangy scent, and the young god wasn't sure whether or not he considered it pleasant. He took a cautious lick, and dropped the fruit suddenly in disgust, his entire face puckering up. Was she trying to _poison_ him? He hastily poured himself a glass of water, gulping the cool, clear liquid down until the ghastly taste had left his mouth. Perhaps Freyja should have sent him to Hel instead; he was sure the food was better there.

Appetite lost, Loki returned to the couch, settling down upon its soft cushions. The recent ordeal still left him dreadfully tired, and he soon felt sleep's intoxicating tendrils pulling him down to the depths of unconsciousness.

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><p>He sensed, rather than heard, her approach the room. It was a curious thing, unlike anything Loki had ever experienced, as if he were finely tuned to her energy, her aura. Maybe some of his magic simply hovered around her, left from their close contact the night previous. All the same, he jolted awake, prepared to properly introduce himself. He arranged his features carefully, like a finely crafted mask, eyes glittering mischievously. Having already traumatized her with his dramatic entrance into her life, he did not wish to further her discomfort. Loki was always alienating others in Asgard; for once in his long existence, he did not wish to do the same on Midgard. And it was certainly no way to repay this sweet Margot.<p>

Her keys rattled in the lock, and he heard the faint click as it popped open, the creak as she pushed the door, and her soft steps as she padded down the hallway towards the living room. A lazy smile played on his lips when she came into view. Margot stopped dead in her tracks, momentarily startled to find him awake so soon, despite the letter she left.

"Oh, you're awake!" she breathed, wanting to mentally slap herself the second she had said it.

"Goodness, really? What a relief, I was having difficulty establishing that myself!"

Margot blushed furiously, feeling humiliated until she caught his playful smile, brilliant green eyes twinkling. He stood up — he was so very tall — and bowed dramatically yet elegantly. "I am Loki Odinson, god of mischief, and I am very pleased to meet you, Lady Margot." Loki stepped forward, taking her delicate hand in his and placing a gentle, chaste kiss upon it. Her blush deepened, and she was flustered, though certainly flattered. How odd that he had healed so quickly, his demeanour so different. She pushed the thought away nearly immediately, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Well, I - thank you," Margot stammered. She let a silence settle between them, but she grew uncomfortable and so asked him the question that had been plaguing her mind since last night. "I'm sorry, but where are you from?"

Mischief glittered in his eyes as his lips quirked into a lopsided smile."Asgard, my dear," he answered simply. "The realm eternal, where gods rule and magic and science are one and the same."

"Magic?" Margot scoffed, sure he was mad, "Real magic doesn't exist, that's child's play."

"Is it? Terribly intelligent children you have on Midgard, in that case. Come, allow me to show you. Sit down, if you please."

She nestled herself carefully on the couch, shrugging off her coat, entirely perplexed at this change of events. His gaze mesmerized her, the perfect showman, and Margot couldn't help but be completely enraptured. Loki clasped his hands behind his back, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially.

"Are you watching closely?"

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><p>I'm dreadfully sorry for all the long descriptions and lack of immediate action; my muse seems to want to get all the initial descriptions and settings out of the way! Don't worry, next chapter will be much more exciting ;)<p> 


	6. Are You Watching Closely?

Sorry for the slower than usual update. I wasn't terribly pleased with the last few chapters, so I wanted to make sure I got this one right. I was listening to "River Waltz" from the "The Painted Veil" soundtrack while writing this. It has a lovely, slightly melancholy quality that I thought fit well. As always, thank you to those who reviewed, and please continue to review, review, review!

I do not own anything, save my OC. Sadly :(

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><p>Margot watched enraptured as, from behind his back, Loki pulled a nightingale, its warbling like liquid gold to her ears. Where had it come from? She scarcely had time to ponder this however, as he wrapped his slight hands entirely around the bird, hiding it from her view, only to reopen them, now showing her a perfectly elegant calla lily, which he handed to her with a charming wink. Margot gasped. How had he done that?<p>

The god stepped back and snapped the fingers of his left hand. Instantly, brilliant, emerald green flames sprang to life in his palm, licking at the pale skin but never burning it. He held it up, the strange fire flickering in his eyes, and waved his right hand over it. The flames twisted themselves into a sinuous viper, which wrapped itself around Loki's wrist, smouldering eyes focused on Margot. Another wave of the hand, and the flames were now an elegant swan, head bowed gracefully. With another snap of his fingers, the green fire lost its shape and he raised it to his smirking lips, blowing it out with a single breath. But the god of mischief was far from over. Now he would _truly_ astound her.

With a widening, lopsided grin, he faded from view like a spectre, relishing in Margot's entirely shocked appearance. She whipped her head around, frantically looking for him, until her eyes settled upon the mirror. There, catching her gaze with a devilishly mischievous look in his brilliant eyes, was Loki, reflected in her mirror. He should still be in the centre of the room. But he wasn't.

And then even his reflection disappeared, leaving the room, for all intents and purposes, empty. That is, until Margot felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and Loki rematerialized right beside her on the couch, the lazy grin still playing on his lips. "Did you enjoy that?" he whispered mockingly.

Margot twisted around suddenly to meet his gaze, head tilted to the side like a curious little bird. "Yes, but…how did you do that?" she queried, heart aflutter.

"Oh, you don't truly want to know, darling. I know you don't, because that would ruin the wonder of it all, and you seem to me the type of girl that is happy with a beautiful mystery. You want to be fooled, if something is better than real life. Am I right?"

Margot felt ice cold chills run down her spine, unsettled but fascinated. Yes, he was right. She struggled for words, tongue-tied, finally settling on the first thought that popped into her mind. "How about some supper? I suppose you must be hungry, that grapefruit must be all you've had for a while…"

"I'm afraid I haven't even had this grapefruit you speak of. I'm assuming that's the horridly bitter over-sized orange?"

She blushed furiously - _Dammit, again? I _never _blush this much — _and realized she had forgotten to leave him any sugar to pour on top of it. "Um, yes, you'd be right. I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten to give you any sugar."

"It's quite all right, no need for apologies," he replied smoothly, hardly thinking sugar would have cancelled out the god-awful taste.

"Well I'll, um, I'll start on supper. Why don't you have a rest? You look like you could still use it. There's a spare bedroom down the hallway, last door on the left. You can have it for now," Margot said, gesticulating slightly towards the hallway.

Loki nodded in thanks and stood up carefully, muscles still tender, disappearing down the corridor and into the bedroom. It was a dark room, with deep red walls and heavy drapery pulled away from the windows, a small bed pushed into the far corner. An ebony wood chest of drawers stood opposite the bed, and besides the doorway was another bookshelf, stuffed with more books. Despite his facade, Loki was quite exhausted, and forewent the chance to peruse them straight away. Instead, he collapsed upon the bed, which was a tad too short for his long, lean frame, and tucked his hands behind his head, sighing. He stared up at the ceiling, thoughts fluttering about his clever mind.

The young god wasn't quite certain what he would do now. He was not ready to return home, that was certain. Nor was he prepared to stay with this mortal, Margot. No, that ran against his instincts. The longer he stayed, the more he risked becoming attached, though she was a mere mortal, and that was something Loki tended to avoid at all costs. Becoming attached only ever led to heartbreak for him, and it was a feeling he was tired of. Typically he succeeded at remaining emotionally distant, but he was wary and certainly no fool. Things could always happen, and he wasn't about to make a foolish mistake. He groaned softly, frustrated that a plan wasn't coming to mind straight away as they usually did. Perhaps he had hit his head upon crashing to Midgard.

Despite all these troubling thoughts, Loki soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

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><p>Margot clattered about the kitchen, nervously preparing supper. She had no idea what this Loki's tastes were like, as he came from a land she had never heard of and still wasn't entirely sure existed. <em>Well, hopefully he's fine with healthy food, as that's all I have<em>, she thought, realizing her strict dancer's diet wasn't necessarily everyone's cup of tea.

She had certainly found his change in demeanour today odd. He had gone from a pained man begging for help to a quick-witted trickster in a matter of hours. Was it all just a front? Margot had a feeling in her gut that that was only half true.

Setting the finished meal down on the table — it had been a while since she'd set it for two people — she wandered down the hall to the room Loki lay in, stopping hesitantly at the door. She could hear his peaceful breathing, and considered leaving him be. But he needed food if he was to heal completely, and so she pushed the door open gently, peering inside. A pearlescent moonbeam fell across the god's face, emphasizing the perfect angles and lines and bleaching his already pale skin. It only added to his unearthliness, and Margot found herself staring again, mouth slightly agape.

So lost in her thoughts was she that she failed to notice Loki wake up, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Can I help you?" he purred.

Margot blinked, snapping out of her reverie. How long had he been watching her? "Oh, sorry. I just came to tell you it was suppertime," she said softly, frustrated with herself. She wasn't usually this air headed and silly. She was known to be shy, yes, and have a slightly nervous disposition, but was usually never one to get so flustered around men.

Loki followed her into the kitchen, sitting down at the only other chair at the small table. Before him was a plate filled with salad greens and some sort of nut, with what he assumed to be some sort of fowl. It didn't look very filling, but smelled good nonetheless. And he supposed he'd need to eat at some point, despite his lack of appetite. He glanced up at Margot, who appeared to be wrestling furiously with her thoughts. She was going to say something difficult, this much he sensed.

"So, what happened that caused you to fall to Earth? It's none of my business, but all the same…"

"If it's alright with you, I'd rather not talk about it," Loki replied softly, his heart wrenching as his mind flickered through the events leading up to his fall. "Perhaps later, but not right now."

Margot nodded, figuring this would be his answer. Even his mischievous show earlier couldn't hide that something terrible had occurred. "I'm guessing you won't be going home for a while, will you?" she said after a long pause, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of chicken.

"No, I suppose not. I still need a bit of time. To heal, among other things," Loki said, carefully keeping his gaze trained on her face, gauging her reaction. Again came the conflicted look upon her face. Again, she was wrestling with her thoughts.

"Well…you can stay here, if you'd like. That spare room is never used, and I can't imagine you'd be any trouble. I'd be happy to have you." Margot managed a faint but genuine smile despite her nervousness.

Loki locked eyes with hers, his lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. This wouldn't do much for his plans to distance himself, but he did need a place to live at the moment, and this was most convenient. Foregoing his initial plans to not stay with Margot, he answered, "I would like that very much, Lady Margot. Thank you for your most gracious offer." Margot nodded, feeling the now familiar blush creep up her neck and flush her cheeks pale pink.

_Heavens no, I wouldn't be any trouble,_ Loki thought, his mischievous nature bubbling up despite the recent events. _It's not as if I'm the God of Mischief or anything of that nature._

_Not at _all.


	7. The Little Prince

Whew! This chapter is considerable longer than the others BUT I reveal Loki's reasons for falling to Earth ;) Also, to provide some background on the book I reference in this chapter, The Little Prince: The Little Prince yearns for exploration, and so, feeling unappreciated by his selfish rose, leaves his planet to go on a grand adventure. He visits many planets along the way, each highlighting a an undesirable quality of adults, until he arrives on Earth, where he meets the stranded narrator of the story, who is also the author. During his visit, the prince learns many important lessons about love and life, and soon becomes homesick, missing his rose. He meets a snake who promises to send him home, and the prince naively falls for his tricks, ultimately dying from the snakebite. It's quite a beautiful story, but sad.

As always, thank you to those who take the time to review. Please please review, people! It helps me have a clue what's going on in your minds ;)

As always, I own nothing.

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><p>Gentle birdsong floated through the window, peaceful and soothing despite the unfamiliar sounds of an already bustling city. Weak winter sunlight fell across the bed, an unearthly light in the dark room, and Loki gazed at it absentmindedly, vaguely aware of how the angelic light clashed against the sombre bedspread. <em>Like Thor and myself<em>, he realized bitterly, the angry thought surfacing from some repressed area in his mind. Thor was always the golden prince, noble and valiant and kingly. But Loki…Loki was always the dark prince, master of shadows and arcane arts and trickery, forever eclipsed by his brother's shining personality. It wasn't just, but Loki had decided long ago that life never was, not for him.

His seething anger soon turned to overwhelming despair and hopelessness at the thought. No, neither life nor fate was just; he couldn't even _die_ properly. Despite his fear of death — it was seldom something an Asgardian typically had to fear — he was growing to desire it. A sweet, final release. It was a moment of weakness, begging the mortal to help him, and he begrudged Freyja for sending him back to Midgard. If they knew his plight, he was sure his supposed companions in Asgard would be mocking him - Loki, the god who couldn't even achieve death.

His self pity sickened him — it was distasteful, something he loathed in others, yet here he was, wallowing in it like filthy mud. Loki's self-loathing threatened to consume him like a vicious poison in his mind, when his thoughts were interrupted by soft foot falls outside his door. Loki quickly feigned sleep as the door creaked open and Margot poked her head inside. He sensed her gaze lingering on his face, but she left soon enough, closing the door gently behind her. Loki felt a pang of guilt over ignoring her so, but he was tired and his body ached, and his foul mood ruined his desire to keep up his mischievous and charming facade for the time being. Instead, he sank into the shadows, ever so quietly opening and closing his door and creeping down the hallway silently. Despite the dull ache in his gut and the pounding in his head, he was restless. Rounding the corner to the living room, he stopped dead. Margot was already there.

She sat on the worn wooden floor in front of the mirror, illuminated softly by the pale winter sun streaming through the large window. It caressed her delicate features and her dark golden hair appeared to glow softly, like a fragile halo. Loki observed her carefully, intrigued. She had wide, innocent eyes, steely blue like a pale sapphire and just as bright. Her nose was small and a faded smattering of freckles graced it, scarcely discernible against her pale skin, and her lips were flushed and not overly full, like two soft rose petals. Overall, she was a lovely creature, her delicate beauty so unlike the bold, fierce beauty of the Aesir women.

She currently had her slim fingers laced together, stretched high above her head as she sat cross-legged. Loki's gaze trailed down her back, noticing that despite her seemingly fragile frame, lean muscles hid beneath the skin, working over delicate bones. Margot's appearance clearly belied her strength, though Loki doubted it was anywhere near as much as his.

Her choice of dress shocked him as well; it was certainly _not _something the women of Asgard would have been allowed to wear. A pale pink garment, made of a skin tight material he didn't recognize, clung to her slight frame, help up by nothing but thin straps. It plunged low in the back, exposing the line of her spine. She wore loose, grey pants and her feet were wrapped in cloth shoes that closely fit to the shape of her foot. Loki decided the outfit was entirely unusual, but judging by her stretching, was meant for dance. A question burned on his tongue, and so he slowly pulled away from the dusky shadows like a wraith.

Margot started when Loki came up behind her in the mirror, taken unawares.

"Loki! I didn't hear you wake up, I - "

"What are you doing?" he asked, curious. "Is this part of your dancing?"

Margot stared for a split second, perplexed. She nearly forgot that he came from a world where ballet most likely did not exist. "No. Well, yes, I suppose. I'm stretching. A dancer always has to stretch thoroughly before dancing, to prevent injury," she replied, taking up a foot in her hands and rolling it in little circles to warm up her ankles.

Loki remained curious. "We never need to do such a thing in Asgard. Are mortals really so…fragile?"

Margot smiled slightly, despite the slight. "I very much doubt the kind if dance I do is like what you do. I do ballet; it's a very technical and disciplined style of dance that demands a great amount of dedication and strength. But it can be so beautiful and graceful," she added dreamily, her voice almost reverent. "It's hard to truly describe in words. You'd have to see ballet to really get the whole impression."

"Can you show me, then?" Loki asked, wanting to see what Margot had described.

She shook her head as she switched feet. "I wish I could show you right now, but I can't properly dance in this room; it wouldn't do it justice."

She caught his gaze in the mirror, a perplexing look in his eyes. It unsettled her, but she didn't know why. Margot looked down swiftly, her body visibly tensing. Loki frowned slightly, still watching her in the mirror. Had he scared her? She always seemed so nervous, like a jittery little bird, though Loki could sense that this was, perhaps, her nature.

"Anyway," Margot spoke up, now carefully avoiding his face, "I need to get going. There's eggs on the stove for you. I'll be back in the evening." She stood up gracefully and picked her cardigan off the floor, pulling it on. He watched her as she donned her long coat and boots and wrapped a fluffy grey scarf around her swan-like neck. Picking up her dance-bag, she left the apartment in a hurry, closing the door without a backwards glance.

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><p>Lights flickered past in the pervading darkness as the subway sped along the tunnel. Margot clung to the pole, knuckles white and palms slick. Her thoughts were in an utter jumble. There was something subtly different about Loki this morning, and she was beginning to feel uneasy about letting him stay with her; she knew nothing about him, save that he had mysteriously fallen from the sky and died, yet miraculously came back to life. That, and he claimed to be a prince and the god of mischief and could to wondrous magic. She felt a sick lurch in her stomach with the realization that he was probably incredibly dangerous — but his charm had blinded her to that simple and now frighteningly obvious fact. But he had been so grievously wounded…Margot cursed herself for her sympathetic and sweet nature. He wasn't a harmless kitten; she had no idea what she had gotten herself into, but found that despite the unsettling feeling Loki gave her, Margot simply didn't have the heart to kick him out. He had the power to resist her anyway, of that she was sure. Chewing at her bottom lip nervously, Margot came to a decision. She <em>would<em> get this supposed god of mischief to tell her his story, one way or another.

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><p>Loki found he had been much too tired and sore to wander around Margot's apartment, regardless of how small it was, but his mind was too restless to simply lie down and attempt sleep. He yearned for a distraction, to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Returning to his small, dark room, his jade gaze fell upon the crammed book shelf. Reading had always been a wondrous distraction, something he loved. Books were a silent companion that never judged, yet simply invited one into their hidden worlds, vellum pages whispering invitingly.<p>

He trailed a long finger along the spines, tapping his thin lips pensively, until a very small, slim volume caught his eye. Loki pulled the book off the shelf. On the cover was a little boy with messy yellow hair, dressed in a green, short sleeved suit. He stood upon what appeared to be a very tiny, pale purple planet, nearly the same size as the boy himself. Across the top the title proclaimed: _The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_. It was clearly a children's book, but Loki was intrigued nevertheless. He settled himself on the bed, flipping to the first chapter. "_Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing…_" Loki studied the somewhat childish drawing and continue on, curious about the adventure of this little prince.

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><p>Sometime later, Loki still sat with the novella in his slender hands, having read it through a few times. It left him with a feeling of profound sadness. Why had the Little Prince so naively gone to his death? He would never truly see his beloved rose again, nor watch the sunset from his little planet. What sort of children's story was this?<p>

But in the bottom of his heart, Loki knew that what truly cut deep was his painful similarity to this naive little prince, who felt so lonely and lost and unwanted in the wide universe. Even sweet Margot, who had taken him in, looked at him as if he were a monster, and he couldn't understand why. Unlike the little prince, however, he didn't have his own rose to die for. His own family scarcely wanted him.

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><p>Margot marched up to her apartment door, trying to put on an air of confidence, even though her heart fluttered madly in her chest. She clutched two bottles of wine in her slick hands, one red, and one white. She hadn't even checked to see what kind she had pulled off the shelf. It would have been a useless action; Margot seldom drank and knew nothing of the intricacies of wine. She simply hoped it would loosen Loki's tongue, supposing gods succumbed to the effects of alcohol just as mortals did.<p>

"Loki?" she called, frustrated with herself when her voice betrayed a slight tremble. She was greeted by stifling silence. She tried again. "Loki? I brought something home for us."

She waited again, but no reply came. Instead, Loki appeared at the head of the hallway, silently as usual, his lean figure partially shrouded in shadows. He seemed slightly pale and drawn, but smiled at her nevertheless, though it seemed strained. Swallowing her nervousness, she set the wine down on the kitchen table, giving him a determined look. "We need to talk. You have to tell me what's going on, why you're here. I'm going to guess it's painful. But you have to tell me." She lifted her chin defiantly, hoping she didn't look as meek as she truly felt.

He stared at her with those piecing, emerald eyes, then looked at the wine. "That really won't be necessary," he said, gesturing to the wine, "It would take a great deal more wine than what you have here to make me drunk."

Margot made a move to take the bottles away, but he interrupted her. "I said it wouldn't be necessary to loosen my tongue, not that it wouldn't be appreciated. Why don't you pour us a glass of that merlot? I'll wait for you in the parlour."

She stared confusedly at the bottles, reading the labels carefully. Right, merlot. The red one. Unfortunately, she had no wine glasses, and had not thought to pick any up, and so she poured the scarlet liquid into a couple mugs, wincing at the lack of class. She wasn't doing much to give the so called mortals a refined appearance. Margot padded into the living room to find Loki already sitting on the couch, hands clasped on his lap, no expression on his face. Like all life had left him.

"Here," she murmured, passing him the mug. "I had no wine glasses, so this'll have to do. Sorry."

"That's quite alright," he replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. She really was such a sweet girl. He took a sip of the wine, savouring the rich flavour. A good guess on her part, picking this wine. Margot watched him expectantly, not even touching her own mug.

"Well?" she prodded, "Start from the beginning please."

Loki sighed, avoiding her gaze. He struggled to find the right words. Where was the beginning? When had everything begun going wrong? He heaved a pained sigh, and began.

"There are a few things you must understand about Asgard first. I come from a warrior's culture; to Asgardians, there is nothing more glorious than battle, and nothing more honourable than dying in war. Though many have a degree of magic, it is not regarded as something that should take preference to skills such as swordplay and head-on combat. Another thing you must understand is that, in all the Nine Realms, no race is more feared, nor more hated, than the Jotuns - the Frost Giants, who hail from Jotunheim."

Margot nodded silently, drinking in his words. "Alright. What more, then?"

"As I told you before, I am a prince. Supposed son of the Allfather, Odin, and younger brother of Thor, the future king of Asgard. I have always been…different, despite my family's efforts to convince me otherwise. The other Asgardians sensed this, I believe. Thor was always the golden child, in both personality and appearance. He is valiant and relishes a good battle, and loves nothing more than to wield his mighty hammer Mjolnir. He may be rash, but the kingdom loves him." At this, Loki's face contorted into an ugly mask of bitterness. "But I…I was never like Thor. My black hair and pale skin was unusual among the Aesir, and marked me as different, dark. I was never as big as Thor and his companions either, which was another desirable feature in Asgard. And I never loved battle in the way that he did, nor did I favour the fighting method he did. I preferred magic and wit, speed and evasion. Many made it no secret that this was undesirable in their minds, that it was supposedly cowardly and unheroic. And I believe that my skill with magic terrified them. I can do things some Aesir couldn't possibly dream of, and this terrified them. Even gods fear what they do not understand. Being the god of mischief and lies does not help things much either; no one is willing to trust me with that sort of reputation. But it is my inherent nature, I've no more control over it than the sun does to shine. I am the sort of person who will start a fire simply to hear people scream, so to speak."

Margot shivered at his words, fearing her uneasiness was slowly becoming justified. Yet she leaned in closer, drawn in by his story.

"At any rate, this easily made Thor the preferred prince among the Asgardian population. It stung, but it was something I grew accustomed to. They were strangers, their opinion mattered little. But as I grew older, even my own father showed signs of favouritism. It became plainly obvious that Thor would be given the crown, that he was much more loved than I. Only my mother remained neutral. I became desperate to prove I was just as worthy, an equal to Thor. I so badly wanted my father's approval, and couldn't understand why I did not seem to be receiving it."

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, draining the last of his wine. Without even asking, Margot rose and fetched him some more, filling the mug right to the brim. He nodded slightly in thanks.

"A few weeks ago, I believe it was, I found out why." He swallowed hard, all colour gone from his handsome face. "Many, many years ago, in the time of your ancestors, the Frost Giants attempted to take Midgard for their own. My father and his army defeated them, but in the temple, he found a Jotun babe, abandoned and oddly small for its race. He brought it to Asgard, determined to raise it as his own in the hopes of uniting the two realms in the future. That babe was me. It explained so much, in retrospect. Why I was always so comfortable in the cold, why I was so adept at magic, why the other Asgardians sensed I was different. It all became clear, why father did not want me on the throne," he spat, fury dripping from every word, his brilliant eyes blazing, "He could not possibly have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne, not when golden Thor was such a superior option. He swore to me I was still his son, that I was just as loved, but it seemed to me a lie. I withdrew. I speak truthfully when I say I was too hurt to know what to do. I thought I would go mad, truly, and that it would not matter, because I was unwanted. They needn't lie to make me feel as if I am."

He paused, a myriad of emotions passing across his typically controlled face, the dominant among them pain. Margot began to feel a strong pang of sympathy for him, though she could tell he wasn't finished.

"A few days ago, it came to our attention that the Frost Giants were planning an attack on Asgard of massive proportions. It is doubtful we would have survived. Now, I will tell you that normally, the only way to pass between realms is by way of the Bifrost, or the Rainbow Bridge as your ancestors called it. I found alternate routes, ways to slip between the realms through secret passages. A few knew of my abilities. A few Jotun had managed to worm their way into Asgard, though they escaped the all-seeing gaze of Heimdall, the protector of the Bifrost. Again, I was the only one known to be able to hide from his gaze. Whispers soon began that I had helped the Frost Giants into Asgard as part of a more sinister trick. You must believe me when I say that I did not do it. I was terribly hurt, but I would never do such a thing."

Loki gazed at her pleadingly, begging her with his eyes to believe him. Margot could feel her fragile, mortal heart slowly breaking against her better judgment. _So sue me for being sympathetic…_she thought defensively to no one in particular, as hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Anyway, they were slipping into our realm, and even I knew not how to stop them. We knew that the whole army would not be coming through these secret pathways; they planned on manipulating the Bifrost, though that was all we could gather from the prisoner we managed to capture. We knew not how they planned on accomplishing this. But we knew if we did not stop them, they would succeed. It was out of the question to storm into Jotunheim and initiate a war; they were much better prepared, and the advantage would not be ours. The losses would have been great. And so Thor, in his eternal brilliance,"-here, his words dripped with sarcasm-"decided that the solution would be to destroy the Bifrost with Mjolnir, thereby taking away their direct route to us. Surprisingly, Thor managed to keep his plan a secret from everyone, but out of my chambers' window I saw him riding out to the Bifrost, and I knew whatever he was about to do would not be good. So I pursued him, scarcely making it in time. I could not let Thor sacrifice himself. Asgard needs him alive, to be their future king. Though his death would be honourable, it would be a waste."

And then, Loki, the god of mischief and lies, allowed silent tears to slip down his pale face as his voice broke, becoming terribly hoarse. "Though I was so jealous of him, I love Thor more than life itself, and could not stand back and watch as he died. I was so sure destroying the Bifrost would kill him, and so I beat him to it. Before he would reach the bridge, I got there first, and I destroyed it with all the magic I could possibly muster. It shattered into many thousands of pieces, and a shard became lodged in my stomach, as you saw. And I fell. I was so sure the initial explosion would kill me, but it hadn't. And so with the very little strength I had left, I pulled myself into one of my secret passageways, simply seeking to fall anywhere but Jotunheim. And that is when I crashed to Midgard, and in my moment of weakness, called to you for help."

He now sat with his head hung, ebony hair falling messily about his head. Despair seemed to weigh him down, and something seemed broken inside him. "I know not if they believe me dead or not, but I do not think they care," he whispered miserably, "I do not think I will return to Asgard; it will be a better place without my mischief and lies." Glittering tears dripped into his now empty mug. His soul was simply too weary to keep up this facade; the realization of everything that had happened came crashing down upon him, finally breaking the last of his typically steel will.

Margot sat with the mug of wine clasped in her trembling hands, her heart aching as if it were her life's story Loki had just recounted. A passage from a long-beloved children's story fluttered at the edges of her memory, seeming oddly appropriate for this lost and lonely prince, and the events that had transpired…

_"I shall look as if I were suffering. I shall look a little as if I were dying. It is like that. Do not come to see that. It is not worth the trouble…"_


	8. Shattered

A bit shorter this time around. Thanks to those who have favourited and reviewed, it means a great deal!

As always, I own nothing.

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><p>Dead silence stretched on for eternity in the small living room, stifling and uncomfortable. The pair sat motionless, ballerina and god, like porcelain dolls. Margot didn't know what to say, and she sensed Loki had said as much as he was going to on the subject, at least for now. And so instead, she sat gazing at the mug of wine with glazed eyes, willing her mind to go blank.<p>

That is, until she heard a pounding at her door.

Her head snapped up, all nerves on fire. No one ever showed up unexpectedly at her door, much less knocked in such an urgent way. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Loki glance up slowly, too lifeless to seem all that concerned about anything.

"Hide!" Margot hissed urgently, "Disappear or go invisible or whatever you do, just hurry!" She flapped her hands uselessly in his direction, and he gave her a baleful look before sinking out of sight. The obnoxious pounding came again, and Margot strode over to the door, cracking it open cautiously.

"Can I help you?" she asked, hesitant to open it any further.

"Miss Margot O'Mayle, is it? We're doing an investigation on the recent events that transpired outside your apartment complex. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Two strange men stood in the hallway just before her door. She stared at them cautiously. They certainly weren't police officers, with their crisp black business suits and sleek sunglasses, worn despite the fact that in was nighttime. Had she been in a more humorous mood, she would have laughed at how very Men In Black they seemed. But she sensed they were serious in their intent and not the sort of men to accept no as an answer, and so she nodded silently, opening the door a little more. "What would you like to ask?"

"You are aware of the crater outside your building?"

"Yes, I am."

"And do you know how it got there?"

She paused, considering her answer. "I heard people say a man caused it when he crashed to Earth. But that's silly, no body was recovered, and men don't just drop out of the sky. So in all honestly, I don't know."

The taller of the two men studied her face briefly, then gave a sidelong glance to his partner. "Miss O'Mayle, may we come in?"

Her heart clenched. Did they sense her lie? "Um, yes, I suppose you can." She stepped back to allow the imposing men to enter, worrying when they began to inquisitively look around the room.

"Where's your guest?" the same man asked, nodding towards the two mugs of wine.

"Oh, they left before you got here. Just a friend popping in for a visit," she replied, scooping them up and bringing them into the kitchen.

"We didn't notice anyone in the hallway. And we've had men posted there for the past little while, ever since you arrived home."

"Really? Well, your men must have missed her. She was here, then she left," Margot said in what she prayed was an offhand style.

"My men seldom miss anything. They are not being paid to do such a thing."

Margot began filling the kitchen sink with water, fiddling with the hot and cold knobs, anything to keep her hands occupied so as to not betray their trembling. She was about to reply when the stranger's partner called him back into the living room.

"Boss, come look at this. I've never seen anything like it."

Margot froze, forgetting about the running water entirely. What had they found? She turned around slowly to face the living room, and saw the shorter agent standing by the couch, carefully examining something in his hands.

The shard from the Bifrost, the one she had pulled from Loki's stomach.

The many hues still shimmered and shifted, the sheer beauty scarcely marred by the dark blood that coated the tip.

"Miss O'Mayle, may I enquire as to where you got this?" the taller agent, clearly the boss, asked in a dangerous tone.

Her mind fluttered with a million little thoughts. She was caught now, she knew it. The shard was clearly otherworldly, not crafted by human hands. "Oh, that? I found it near the crater. It was pretty, so I thought I'd keep it." Margot didn't sound nearly as nonchalant as she had hoped; the tremor was clear in her voice and the lie sounded unbelievably false, even to herself.

"And the blood, then?"

"It was like that when I found it."

"Really? Well, I'm sure you won't mind if we confiscate it for purposes of the investigation, now would you?" he asked, staring her down.

Despite her nervousness, Margot was growing annoyed with the strange man and his partner. His condescending tone was irking her; she wasn't a child, and the piece of the Bifrost wasn't his to take. He hadn't even shown her a badge to prove he was some sort of official. She lifted her chin defiantly, a streak of attitude momentarily emboldening her.

"I'd really rather you didn't. You know, finders keepers and all," she quipped in a vaguely mocking way. His expression darkened, and he leaned towards her menacingly.

"You can make this easy for yourself, Miss O'Maley. Allow us to take this artifact with us."

"No," she snarled, balling her delicate hands into fists. "It's _mine_."

And before Margot could even begin to stop herself, she lunged towards the smaller agent, pushing him backwards, into the three-panelled mirror. He crashed against it, shattering it instantly and sending a thousand glittering shards tumbling through the air like beautiful, deadly hail. She fell on top of him, pulled down by the momentum, and scrambled to push herself off, all the while groping for the piece of rainbow glass.

"It's _mine_! _Mine_!" she shrieked frantically, finally ripping it from his grasp.

A strong pair of hands gripped her arms suddenly, trying to pry her away from the fallen agent, and she twisted and squirmed, certain it was his boss. But the hands were much too cold, and a quick glance told her they were also much too pale…

She stilled her struggling momentarily, chest heaving and breath coming in great, shuddering gasps. The smaller agent was struggling to pick himself up off the ground, scarlet blood tricking from many small cuts under his suit. The other agent lay incapacitated on the ground a little ways away, breathing peacefully.

"Stay right here," Loki commanded, voice still toneless. She couldn't read the expression on his angular face. He approached the fallen agent and reached a spidery hand out to him, gently pressing his fingers to the man's forehead. His momentary look of panic soon gave way to a blank expression, completely at peace. Loki then swept his hands along the man's figure, evidently sealing up his wounds and erasing the blood. Margot gazed in absolute wonder, astonished at the things he was doing right before her very eyes. He then moved on to the head agent laying upon the floor, and with a gentle tap to his temple, awoke him and helped him to his feet. He bore the same blank face as his partner.

"Now," Loki said, gazing at them both intently in the eyes, menace shining in them, "Nothing has happened here. Margot O'Mayle was questioned and found to have no information as to what transpired a few days ago, or in the days since. No artifacts were recovered from the site. You will leave, now, and never bother her again. Have I made myself clear?"

The two agents nodded dumbly, turning around and heading towards the door as if guided by an invisible puppeteer. They left the apartment with no further incidence. Loki turned back to Margot, who still stood in the middle of the living room, wide-eyed, shard of rainbow glass clutched in her hands. She was gripping it so tightly that it cut into her palms, blood oozing from the shallow wounds. It wasn't until she followed Loki's gaze that she noticed them, and gave a cry of pain and despair, dropping the shard as if electrocuted.

It was then that the realization of what she had done came crashing down upon Margot, and she struggled to breath, her chest suddenly feeling tight like a vice. "I could've…I almost…he could have died!" she cried, horrified with herself. "I don't even know what happened. They were just…I couldn't stand them! I-"

She stopped herself when Loki wordlessly took her small hands into his, his cool skin calming the burning sting of the cuts. Running his thumbs along the smooth gashes, they stitched themselves up and faded from view, leaving her skin flawless and free of scarring.

Margot examined her hands, stunned. "Thank you," she whispered.

But the room was empty.

Loki had disappeared once again, the shard of multihued glass safely with him.

_Review!_


	9. Turnabout

Sorry for the very long wait! I moved into university residence this week - it was madness and quite stressful! (As well as quite sad to leave my family behind.) I'll try to update as quickly as I can from now on. This is more of a fun chapter, nothing too heavy. I'll save that for later. Help cheer me up with your lovely reviews, and thanks to those who have done so!

I do not own anything.

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><p>Some time later into the night, Margot was still to be found in the living room, sitting on the floor with her back up against the couch, knees drawn up. The colour had yet to return to her face, and she had scarcely moved. The broken mirrors still littered the room, glittering in the dim light emanating from the kitchen.<p>

"You should get some sleep; I'd imagine ballet would be rather difficult if you've no energy," Loki murmured, emerging from the murky shadows of the hallway.

Margot glanced up, but carefully avoided his eyes. "I don't have dance tomorrow, it's Saturday," she replied.

"And what does it being "Saturday" have anything to do with it?"

"We never dance on Saturdays unless we have a performance. It's our one day off during the week," she said, wondering why Loki was suddenly so chatty and curious.

He disappeared into the kitchen without responding, returning with their mugs clasped in his pale hands, now filled to the brim with wine. He silently handed Margot hers, settling himself on the floor next to her, one long leg stretched out, the other drawn up to his chest. She threw him a quizzical glance, and he shrugged his slight shoulders casually.

"Well, you do not have dance tomorrow, as you said. A second…mug of wine will not do you any harm. I am sensing you could use it," Loki explained, swirling the ruby drink in his own mug, studying it lazily.

"Why are you suddenly so talkative?" Margot asked. "You looked completely miserable only a few hours ago."

"I try not to dwell on things too much. It does me no good in the grande scheme of things. And if I reflected on every little thing that rendered me miserable, I would never smile again in my life," he paused, clearly toying with a thought. "And I must admit, your little show truly shocked the misery out of me." He gave her one of his small, playful smirks as she glared darkly at him.

"It wasn't funny!" Margot snapped. "That was entirely terrible. I don't even know what came over me. I just…I just snapped, I suppose. They had no right to do that."

Loki nodded knowingly, sipping his wine slowly. "Truth be told, I was waiting for something along those lines to happen. You may not have paused to think about it, but a fair amount of stressful and dare I say traumatic things have occurred in your life lately. And I mean no disrespect, but Midgardians seem to have a low tolerance for stress, at least compared to the Aesir. It seems like every time I blink, one of your clans has engaged in a new war over trivial matters."

"What about Thor?" Margot grumbled, "he seemed to have very little tolerance for anything, the way you spoke of him. I'm sure he would start wars too." She regretted it the instant she said it, remembering how hurt he had seemed when speaking of his family. But to her surprise, he chuckled, bobbing his head in agreement.

"Yes, Thor was known for his rashness. Patience was not a virtue of his. At any rate, do not worry about earlier. Those men were not grievously harmed, and they do not remember a thing. As far as they're concerned, Margot O'Mayle knew nothing of the recent events. It was probably best for you to get that out of your system. Everyone has to let go at some point. Even gods," Loki assured her.

"I usually don't allow myself to," Margot admitted softly.

"I gathered as much."

Margot relaxed slightly, releasing her tensed muscles. She supposed she was blowing things out of proportion. At the very least, this is how the trickster god made it seem. The agents had hardly been in any mortal danger.

The two sat in companionable silence, the dancer mutely mulling over her thoughts, until something occurred to her.

"You're going to need clothes," she stated.

"I already have clothes," Loki pointed out.

"I mean Midgardian clothes, you know that. You can't go out in public like that, people will think you're a freak."

"I was not aware that I would be leaving the apartment."

"Well you can't stay holed up in here," Margot argued. "There may be a time when you need to leave."

Loki sipped his wine pensively. "Very well, Midgardian clothes it is then. How does one go about finding such things?"

Margot almost felt like laughing at his child-like lack of understanding, but realized this would be cruel. He was not from Earth; and even then, he was a prince. It was doubtful he ever needed to go to a store for anything, least of all clothes. "We need to go shopping for them, in stores. I don't have much money to spare but I'll see what I can do."

Loki frowned ever so slightly, so slightly that Margot wasn't entirely sure that he really had seen him do so. "Are you poor, then?" he inquired, as if they were discussing the weather. Merely another curiosity.

Margot was startled by his question. She certainly wasn't poor, as she had her own housing, food on the table, and all the modern amenities she felt she needed. But again she remembered he was a prince, and so riches would have never been lacking for him. "No, I'm not poor. I simply don't have plenty of extra money. Ballet dancers don't always receive a high pay. But don't worry, you won't starve while under my roof."

"You use some sort of currency then? I assume Midgardians have long abandoned the ancient bartering method of acquiring goods," he asked. If he was relieved, he did not show it, his perfect face a pristine mask.

"Yes, American dollars. Here, let me show you." Margot got up off the floor stiffly, legs numb from having sat down for so long. She reached for her dance bag and began rummaging around for her wallet, extracting a twenty dollar bill and handing it to Loki. "That's worth twenty American dollars."

He examined it closely, twisting it about in his slim, pale hands. "And…is this all you have?" Loki asked, an edge of unease in his voice.

Margot dug in her wallet, yet realized it was, in fact, the only bill left in her wallet. "I, well…yes, for the moment, it is," she admitted, feeling intense embarrassment. "I have money in the bank, but I won't be able to take any out tomorrow. My bank is closed on the weekends, and I don't have a credit card…" She chewed her lip, aware of his intense emerald gaze upon her face.

Loki was not familiar with much of what Margot had just said, but could clearly tell she was in a predicament. He studied the curious paper even more closely, noting every intricate design and the smallest details. He then held it flat in his palm, and elegantly waved his other hand overtop of the bill. When he was finished, he made to pass her the money.

Margot stared at his alabaster hand, rosy lips slightly parted in shock. There, in his palm, lay her twenty dollar bill, multiplied many times.

"Will this be enough?" Loki asked, seeming remarkably like a child who desperately hoped their mother would approve of the drawing they had created.

Margot simply nodded, at a loss for words momentarily. "That…that was incredible. How did you do it?" she gasped, mind fluttering with a thousand questions.

His thin lips twisted into an amused smirk. "Magic, my dear."

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><p>The city was a noisy, confusing jumble, and it jarred Loki's heightened senses painfully. Thousands of smells filled his nose, the vast majority too unpleasant for his liking. A myriad of sounds grated against his ears, the most prominent among them the constant chatter of the crowds surrounding the pair, and the obnoxious honking of horns he could not locate. Countless Midgardians pressed in around him, fairly shoving the trickster god out of the way. Where were they so desperate to be? In a brief flare of white hot anger — they dared to push a prince! — he considered shoving them back, but realized this was certainly some sort of breech of etiquette. And in his Midgardian disguise — magic, again, proved useful — there was no way of knowing his royal heritage. And so instead, he followed closely behind Margot, who did not seem disturbed by the vast amount of people, or the insufferable smells and sounds, in the least.<p>

She steered him into one of the incredibly tall buildings — she had told him they were called "skyscrapers" — fronted by huge glass windows displaying odd clothing. Surely she did not expect him to wear any of this?

He leaned in close, lips close to her ear. "All this looks very much like it is meant for women. I refuse to wear it," he whispered fiercely.

Margot jumped at his sudden proximity, but then stifled a somewhat nervous laugh. "Don't worry, this is the women's section of the store. The men's clothes are in the back. We'll find you something there," she replied, an amused smile still on her face.

Loki straightened up, his characteristically unreadable expression back on his face. He said nothing, instead simply making his way to where she had pointed. When he had stopped, he turned back to find Margot examining him, head tipped to the side like a curious little bird. "What?" he demanded, "Is something the matter?"

"No, not at all, " she replied. "I'm just not sure what size you would be. I've never had to shop in the men's section. I suppose we'll just pick some things and you can start trying it on until something fits."

"That seems highly inefficient," Loki sniffed, used to his calculated ways.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, but your brilliant mind has no use in this situation. It's all trial and error."

Loki noted the sarcasm in her backhanded compliment, and had to bite his silver tongue to avoid a nasty retort. He simply conceded by nodding his head slightly. "Very well, let us begin then," he sighed.

"Goodness, you're acting like I'm pulling your teeth out without any anaesthetic," Margot commented, starting to search through what appeared to be trousers. "Here, try these on. Do you see anything else that catches your eye?"

Loki had, in fact, found some clothing that proved to suit his tastes. Margot had called his choices sharp and classy; he was simply content to find clothes that fit and didn't make him look a fool. Though in the back of his mind, he knew he should be grateful; she was only trying to help, make his transition to Midgard as painless as could be.

The trickster god mulled these thoughts over in his head, realizing that perhaps, it was his turn to show the lovely Margot O'Mayle some kindness of his own.


	10. Beauty

Hello dear readers! I'm so sorry for the extremely slow update, between university and five nights of ballet classes things got a little hectic! I'll try to update a little more regularly.

For this chapter I listened to Tchaikovsky's Pas de Deux: Andante from Swan Lake as my inspiration. (It's also know as the Black Swan Pas de Deux) Give it a listen - it's gorgeous and quite romantic!

As always, I own nothing. Please review, it does brighten my day to know people read and enjoy what they see!

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><p>Loki gazed out the window, pale forehead leaning against the cool glass. Behind him, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, Margot hummed a gentle tune while sewing satin ribbons onto her pointe shoes. He heaved a sigh, and Margot glanced up, brow furrowed with concern.<p>

"What's wrong, Loki?" she questioned, setting her needle and thread down.

"Does Midgard not have stars? Every time I have looked upon the sky, there are no stars."

Margot joined him at the window, placing her delicate hands upon the sill. "Of course there are. You just can't see them because of the light pollution."

"I'm sorry? Even your light is polluted?" Loki said, a slight edge of derision to his voice.

"No, that's not quite it. This is a very large city, and there are always lights on at night. Those lights make it much too difficult for the stars to show. If you were to go out to the countryside, or even a small town, you could see the stars." Margot paused for a moment, noting the faint look of longing on his face. "If you'd like, I could show you sometime. I still know all the constellations from my childhood."

"I should like that very much," Loki murmured, his mind clearly in a far off place.

Margot hesitated, toying with a question, unsure whether she wanted to know the answer. Curiosity, ever stubborn, eventually pushed her into asking anyway. "What are you thinking about?" she whispered.

"Home," he answered simply, without hesitation. The look of longing deepened, and he seemed to do very little to hide the sadness deep within his brilliant emerald eyes.

"What about it?" Margot prodded, surprised at how quickly his mood seemed to change.

"About how I miss it," Loki sighed, turning his face away from her. _He does not wish me to see just how much he hurts_, she thought, the realization finally dawning on her.

"But…you felt unwanted there. Why would you miss it?" she asked, struggling to understand him.

"Because it was nevertheless my home. And I mean no offence, but Midgard has certainly lost much of its beauty since I last visited many years ago. I suppose I was spoiled, being surrounded by the beauty of Asgard. One should not take beauty for granted."

"Tell me about Asgard," Margot asked, suddenly longing to know what this beauty was he spoke of. He turned slightly back towards her, his face emotionless. "Please? I just want to be able to picture it."

Loki's lips pulled into a gentle smile at her almost childish eagerness. "I very much doubt you would be able to truly picture Asgard's beauty. It far surpasses anything here on Midgard. But, I suppose I could describe it to you nevertheless." He returned his gaze to the starless night sky, gently steepling his slim fingers. "Well, where to begin? I, being a prince, grew up in the royal palace. It is a great structure, made of seemingly solid gold with a façade that sweeps up towards the heavens like a row of gilt flutes. It was awe inspiring, especially to the citizens. We have many great causeways, flanked by statues of our ancestors, and beyond them lies the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, though I've no doubt you are familiar with it by now. It stretches a great distance, and below it churns a great sea, steely blue and dangerous. At the edge of our realm it drops off into nothingness, and it is said one would fall for eternity if one were to stumble off the edge. The palace sits upon great, jagged cliffs, and nestled around the palace and even among the cliffs' edges lie the houses of the civilians, every bit as elegant and stunning as my home. Many gardens grace the city, but none are so beautiful as those found on the palace grounds, filled with exotic birds and delicate flowers and all manner of streams and trees. Some are perfectly groomed, stunning in their symmetry. Others are carefully crafted wildernesses, brimming with wildflowers and grass softer than you could ever imagine. But it is the forest that is the true crowning pride, filled with ancient trees and thick with vines and curious plants. Sometimes, a shaft of golden light would break through the canopy, and it would fill a clearing with such an unusual light that everything would seem softly gilt. Here things were primal and pure, entirely unhampered by the Aesir." Loki paused in his recounting, chancing a quick glanced at Margot, who stood entirely enraptured. The look of deep longing on his perfect face soon returned, however, and he shifted his gaze to the window once again. "But it was the heavens that would truly rob the breath from your body. Oh, the heavens…The stars alone were as diamonds, more brilliant than the finest piece of jewelry in our possession, and the nebulae swirled so close there were nights when I swore, if I could just reach far enough, my fingertips could brush against them. And the colours! Such stunning blues and pinks and oranges! There was scarcely a night Asgard wasn't illuminated by the heavens. Such a sight to behold…" And he sighed, resting his forehead against the glass and closing his dark-lashed eyes like an alabaster statue.

Margot, still enchanted by his words, had not shifted from her place on the floor. She simply watched him with eager eyes, wishing for more. But she knew he was finished and would speak no longer, at least, not tonight. Shaking herself slightly from her daze, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, shocked by her sudden touch. "That was beautiful. Thank you. We both should go to bed now, though. I think you could really use the sleep."

Loki slowly opened his eyes, observing her silently, thoughts clearly churning. "May I come watch you dance tomorrow?" he inquired innocently. "I think it's time that I see what you spend all day doing."

The dancer hesitated, unsure. "I'm not supposed to bring guests to practice…" she began, but stopped suddenly. The god of mischief had disappeared as silently as a specter. Margot glanced about uneasily, not yet used to his little disappearing act and odd mood changes. Suddenly, she felt a breath upon the back of her neck, the delicate hairs pricking up.

"Who says they have to know I am there?" he whispered mischievously.

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><p>Loki followed Margot closely down the twisting corridors, smoothly avoiding the other dancers as they flitted past the pair. They paid him no mind, cleverly cloaked with invisibility as he was. Margot's invisible shadow. She lead him into a small auditorium with red velvet seats arranged in a tiered semi-circled before a fair-sized stage. Guiding the god up a couple rows, she pointed to a seat in the middle, indicating he should sit down. "And please, behave! No tricks, no matter how tempting it is!" she hissed at him, unsure if she was even addressing Loki to his face. He obeyed however, settling himself comfortably in the seat.<p>

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," he replied mockingly, enjoying the brief look of panic on her face.

Margot opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it and instead hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder. She gave him a warning glance before leaving him, making her way to the base of the stage.

Loki looked on as she pulled on her unusual shoes – pointe shoes, she had called them – and wrapped the satin ribbons around her slim ankles. He was intrigued by the rest of her outfit – the same tight fitting garment he had seen her wear a few nights previous, soft pink tights, a loose, soft scarf and a flowing, sheer black skirt she had wrapped around her waist. She began pulling on unusual knit tubes of material, allowing them to settle comfortably around her ankles. Her outfit was entirely bizarre to him, nothing like how the women in Asgard dressed. Though, he noted that many of her fellow dancers were dressed similarly.

Margot settled herself on the floor, carefully stretching herself out and warming her ankles, feeling quite self-conscious. _Don't be silly, you're a dancer, you're meant to be watched_! Margot chastised herself. But no one had ever come to watch her specifically. And certainly no one as accustomed to beauty as Loki. She would probably seem as ungainly and awkward as a troll in his mind. She desperately tried to push the ugly thought from her mind and simply continued with her warm up, doing so until the ballet mistress arrived, clapping her hands sharply and ordering them to the barre.

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><p>The rest of the morning passed uneventfully as the company practiced the grueling exercises. Though Margot worked particularly hard on her own steps, she coolly avoided looking at the tiered seating despite not being able to see Loki. No matter, she hadn't done anything to garner embarrassment, at least not by her standards.<p>

The ballet mistress called the dancers to attention, yet again with a brusque clap. "That was lovely, company. You may go to your respective practices, I want all those involved in the _Pas de Deux: Andante_ scene in here with me."

Margot made a move to collect her bags and move into the adjacent studio when the ballet mistress called out to her, stopping her dead in her tracks. "Oh, no, no, you stay here. Anna called in sick; I want you filling in her part. We still need to run it. Get your tutu on. Hurry up!"

The dancer scrambled to follow her orders, flustered. Of all the days Loki would choose to come watch, it was this day. Sure, she knew the pas de deux, every dancer in the company did, in the hopes they would land the lead role. But had she perfected it? Certainly not, and she fumbled with the stiff tulle as she pulled the tutu on, painfully nervous. The mistress called for the dancers to take position, and Margot took her place in the middle of the stage with her partner, gingerly placing her hands in his, assuming her starting pose. The violinist played the first quavering note, and the two began sweeping gracefully across the stage, she, the black swan, he, the prince. Margot tried not to think of Loki, whose emerald eyes were surely upon her. _Just let it go, just let it go, just let it go…_

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><p>His brilliant gaze followed Margot's elegant form as she swirled around the stage, effortlessly gliding and bending and extending in perfect harmony with her partner to the plaintive strains of the violin. He hadn't ever seen anything like it, even in the royal courts. None of the women were ever so elegant and poised, save for his mother, who had the natural regality of a queen. What astonished Loki most, however, was how delicate the dancing appeared as Margot flitted about on the tips of her toes, sylph-like. She made it seem as if it were nothing, as natural as breathing, though the young god wasn't naïve enough to be deceived; he was certain it took an incredible amount of effort, and he was impressed. She seemed so fragile, but here she mixed elegance and grace with a bold bravura that was incredibly alluring.<p>

The dance came to an end, too soon in Loki's opinion, and Margot struck a striking pose, one leg extended behind her, an arm thrown back triumphantly, the other clasped in the adoring "prince's" hand, head held high. A brilliant smile illuminated her features.

"That was excellent, Margot," the dance mistress called, politely clapping. "Excellent. Take a break, we'll run it again in five."

Margot fairly pranced off stage, pleased with herself. Her nerves had gripped her throat and left her heart pounding furiously, but she had done well. Not perfectly, though. Never perfectly, though she tried so hard. No matter, this wasn't her role to perfect. She plucked her scarf from her bag, wrapping it around her neck and subtly attempting to find where Loki sat. She felt a gentle tug on her tutu, his only silent sign that he was there.

"That was stunning," he breathed in her ear, nearly causing her to jump. "Truly beautiful! And here I was, thinking mortals incapable of grace."

Margot glowed with his praise, but kept her face turned away, refusing to show it. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. And here I was, thinking gods incapable of being impressed by mere mortals." She could almost feel his grin at the back of her neck, but refused to turn around. "At any rate, I'm going to be here for hours and I can guarantee you'll become bored of this. I'm sure we'll end up doing the same thing over and over; the mistress is fond of that, so you should probably head home. Can you find your way?"

"Yes, I suppose I could," Loki replied, slightly disgruntled and feeling very much like a child whose favourite toy had been taking away. Which, as he recalled, had been a frequent occurrence with Thor around.

She laughed, hearing the irritated edge to his voice. "You can come back another day," she assured him, adjusting her scarf. "I promise you. Now go on, and don't get lost."

"I never get lost," Loki sniffed, offended she would think him so absent minded. "I am not a child. Good day, Miss Margot."

And he brushed past her gently, disappearing without a sound.

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><p>The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the steady ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Loki lay sprawled upon the couch, its length too short for his long limbs, and tried to allow the gentle <em>tick tock<em> lull him into sleep, but he felt uneasy and restless. Even reading had not helped. Margot hadn't yet returned home, despite the sun having set hours ago. Where was she? He pushed himself upright, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach like a white-hot knife.

It really was too quiet in the apartment.

Loki stood up and began pacing about, hoping to calm his sudden nerves. What was going on? He gripped at his ebony hair, frustrated. Something didn't feel right. The discomfort and unease grew in his gut, nearly making him ill.

A dark feeling nagged at his conscious, insidious and malevolent. His pacing became more frantic, as if he could outrun his discomfort.

But he couldn't.

Loki was always calm and collected, had rarely felt true fear or worry, yet something was wrong. He couldn't quite place a finger on what it was, until –

Margot. It was Margot.

A terrible voice whispered inside him. _She is not well, she is not well…_

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><p>Before Margot stretched an empty road, dimly lit by dirty streetlamps whose weak light scarcely lit up the sidewalks. Litter whispered past in the breeze and a group of scruffy ravens croaked from their perches upon the lamps, midnight-black feathers melting into the dark buildings behind them. She shivered a little, wrapping her coat tighter about her, though it had little to do with the cold. She had stayed at practice late, wanting to do a little extra work. As a result, the normally bustling street was devoid of people and cars, save for those parked on the side of the road.<p>

Something about it didn't feel right. Something, just a small thing, was off…

And then, at the end of the road, something caught her eye.

Two figures, smudges in the heavy winter mist, detached themselves from the shadows.

Margot's heart seized, her stomach clenching in fear. Instinct told her to run, but her legs failed her, choosing instead to only allow her to stumble backwards, nearly falling upon the hard, frozen asphalt. _Run, you idiot!_ She screamed mentally, furious with herself. _Run!_

"Why hello, sweetheart," a voice rasped, suddenly close. How had they moved so fast? "You look lost. Don't worry, we'll help."

Grimy hands reached out towards her, and Margot stumbled backwards again, panic stricken. But she became tangled in her own feet and she collapsed, slamming upon the frozen ground and striking her head. Dazzling stars exploded in her vision, and she twisted about unsuccessfully, until an ice-cold hand closed upon her wrist…


End file.
